sniper queen

Amazing, truly is, isn't it ?
such a huge slump of a mass , epic scale, and proportions of chaos,
a dwelldum of non acclaimed calamity's of destruction.
Yet.
ahh yes, yet amidst the whole circus, with a magnifying glass, you can spot on, people like me ,
sure with alter methods or motives, but they are unique.
in which they have some well, that drives and derives them,
you are one, and you choose to be exposed, as naively as a teenage love confession at the park.
How ever, dear epitaph and epilogue of mine, I am yet to see the need of you!
What sort of rule, or term, which with its obsolete mall functional ego, decided that you are some way the completion of what I stand for?
My actions make there own reactions, within the victor of time in any given set of place and conditions, that is, that I make my own time, and I seize it.
What are you for me then?
What side you fill?
Shouldn't I end this charade of self-agony you torment your self with?
That is the least I should do.
To cut off an imposter like you.
Yes, an imposter, with your fancy shields, and tools, and this hiding behind alter voice and mask.
I mean, for heavens sake and hells as well, is it that Bruce Wayne needs a hug that big , that he made such an unrelenting force and gave it a name ?
what sort of vigilante are you ?

Bathed with hate.
Gifted by grace, the mother of all grace.
showered, bit by bit, and spec by another, with good intentions.
yet this conflectuary is so amusing, to the levels of self agony, with grins and smirks, and a slight whiff of shyness.
heavy breaths, those creped breaths.
you cant change anything, gagged by everything.
unleash what's holding you forward.
i urge you to lay down, hold still and praise, the mother of all praise.
find your self a Devine, tip that scale of aggression.
become part of me, settle aside, beside, along side, the shadows of my highness.
Soaked and dead still, such a lump, with no well.
Cold, freezing cold, screaming silently,
Sprouting a wrath, fiercer than hell.
Spit that soul out,
Spit and spell.
Inked with tears, blood, and dwell,
Of those glimpses of lightning,
And thunder amidst the dark.
Just how soothing?
This end is!
Again, with bowed shoulders, and a sigh as big as always.
The same teary eyes, the same rattle in the skin.
Self-disgust, resent, and the holy church of blame.
With much wider walls around,
Multi million bridges, and yet no ground.
My divine of pointlessness
Karma of solitude.
Alphabet of guilt,
Just how soothing?
This end is!